Chapter 16 A Question Left Unanswered
A Question Left Unanswered
Emilia arrived early the next morning, already buried in research.
The dim glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across the stacks of documents she had pulled overnight.
The musty scent of aged paper mingled with the faint metallic tang of ink as she worked.
She had long since lost track of time, her mind deep in cross-referencing old correspondences from Queen Charlotte’s court, when she heard the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps—measured and deliberate.
She didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
Alexander’s presence carried a certain weight, a controlled stillness that made him impossible to ignore even in the vastness of the royal archives.
Still, she feigned focus, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make a point before glancing up from her notes.
“I take it you plan to live in the archives now?” His voice was dry as he set a leather-bound book down near her scattered papers.
“I’ll leave when I’m satisfied with my work.” Emilia continued writing, her pen scratching steadily against the paper.
“Ah. So never, then.”
She smirked but didn’t argue, acknowledging the truth in his assessment with a slight tilt of her head.
Alexander exhaled, tapping his fingers against the polished wood table. “I spoke with my mother this morning,” he said, voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. “She wants the exhibition opened sooner rather than later. We’ll have to adjust our timeline.”
Emilia frowned, setting her pen down and giving him her full attention. “How much sooner?”
“A month earlier than expected.”
She let out a slow breath, mentally recalculating the work ahead. That was a significant shift—fewer weeks to finalize curation, less time to ensure everything was properly sourced and contextualized. But more than that, something about the request felt… calculated.
“Any reason for the sudden rush?” she asked, watching his face carefully.
Alexander hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “She wants it wrapped up before the fall.” He didn’t elaborate, but Emilia wasn’t an idiot. She knew exactly what event was planned for the fall—his engagement announcement.
Something in her stomach twisted, a reaction she immediately dismissed as professional concern rather than anything personal. “Alright. We can adjust,” she said, straightening her papers. “We’ll need to prioritize the main exhibits and perhaps scale back some of the supplementary displays.”
She flipped through her notes, refocusing on the work rather than the implications of his answer. “While we’re discussing changes, there’s something else. I’ve been reviewing records for the exhibit, and something doesn’t sit right.”
Alexander arched a brow, his expression shifting from resignation to curiosity. “Oh?”
She reached for a folder nestled among the stacks. “We discussed your father yesterday, but now that I’ve actually pulled records from his reign, they seem overly curated. Too neat.”
Alexander’s posture stiffened slightly, though he masked it well. “Curated how?”
Emilia turned the pages toward him, her finger tracing along particular entries.
“Everything about his policies is accounted for—his speeches, his diplomatic successes, even his public initiatives. But when you look deeper, the financials, the private correspondences, the more unfiltered glimpses into his leadership—it’s all carefully framed.
There are gaps, not in the information itself, but in how it’s presented. It’s been polished. Smoothed over.”
Alexander’s fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, not quite touching the documents. “And let me guess—my mother’s fingerprints are all over it.”
Emilia didn’t say anything, but the look she gave him spoke volumes.
Alexander exhaled lightly, leaning against the table. “He was a beloved king. Charismatic. People followed him not out of duty, but because they wanted to.”
She studied him, noting the conflicting emotions that flickered across his face. “And?”
A beat passed between them. Then, quietly—“History is written by those who remain.”
Her brows furrowed. “You mean your mother.”
Alexander didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths, broken only by the distant ticking of the archive’s ancient clock. Finally, he exhaled. “There were… inconsistencies toward the end of his reign.”
Emilia sat up straighter, her fatigue forgotten. “What kind of inconsistencies?”
Alexander frowned slightly, as if debating whether to continue.
“Financial, mostly.” He reached for a document, flipping absently through it.
“I was young, but I remember overhearing my mother and the council discussing it after his death… unexplained expenditures. Resources unaccounted for. There were rumors that my father had financed something off-record. My mother ensured everything was… handled. The records were reconciled. The missing money was quietly written off.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were just another minor bureaucratic decision—not something that should have raised alarm bells throughout the entire financial ministry.
“And you never looked into it?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, the only visible sign of tension. “My mother is very good at ensuring people don’t ask the wrong questions.”
Emilia tapped her fingers against the table, weighing the implications. “But here you are, practically daring me to ask them anyway.” She gave him a wry look. “You’re asking me to risk provoking Queen Eleanor—a woman who makes Elsa from Frozen look positively warm and approachable.”
Alexander couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him, though he quickly composed himself. “I wouldn’t make that comparison to her face.”
“But in all seriousness,” he said, steering the conversation back, “you’re the one who wants the real truth about the monarchy. I’m just telling you where to look for answers.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
Something in his expression softened—just for a second. Because the truth was, he didn’t know what happened. He had spent his life learning how to move forward without questioning the past.
But Emilia? Emilia questioned everything.
And for the first time, Alexander realized that maybe he wanted to know, too. Maybe he needed someone who wasn’t afraid to look where others wouldn’t—someone who saw past the crown to the person beneath it.
The thought was as unsettling as it was freeing.